


Between the Scenes

by ibreathethroughwords



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Thrawn Trilogy - Timothy Zahn, Star Wars: New Republic Era - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Missing Scene, Teacher-Student Relationship, but not in a sexy way, the microjump argument
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-09 16:59:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1990620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ibreathethroughwords/pseuds/ibreathethroughwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short drabbles filling in the gaps in Zahn's work. Will probably stay gen, at least at first.</p><p>
  <b>On hiatus</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. After a Day in Mount Tantiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't fair, Pellaeon decided as he turned his head to look at his commander. Thrawn didn't even look _tired_. His hair was still perfect, he'd changed into a uniform that wasn't coated in dust from their exhaustive search of Mount Tantiss, and his posture was still parade-ground perfect.

At the end of the day, he decided he was too tired to move from his office couch. After the long hike through Mount Tantiss, getting C'baoth situated in the _Chimaera's_ guest quarters, and tending to some of his own duties, the captain was exhausted. Somehow, he'd managed to work in a meal, and afterward had sat down to do some of the administrative tasks required by his position. Focus wasn't coming to him though, and after an hour of attempting to work and failing miserably, he quit. Setting aside the data pad, Pellaeon slouched down on the couch so he could rest his head against the back of it, deciding that a few moments of resting his eyes would do him wonders.

He was too tired to move, but too concerned about having a Jedi Master on his ship – and probably an insane one at that – to fall asleep. Shifting in his spot just a little, Pellaeon tried to get more comfortable. There were plenty of good things to come out of the trip, he reminded himself in hopes of getting his mind to relax. The thousands of Spaarti cloning cylinders would allow them to rebuild their military without the use of conscripts. Thrawn presumably had plans for the cloaking shield, though he had yet to share them with Pellaeon, and likely wouldn't until the last minute. It would be interesting to see how well something widely considered so tactically impractical would employed in the hands of a master strategist.

The door to his private office slid open, and Pellaeon found he was too tired to reprimand whoever had barged in unannounced. It was for the best he hadn't opened his mouth to try – Grand Admiral Thrawn hardly needed his permission to go wherever he pleased on his flagship, the captain's office included. Pellaeon attempted to summon the energy to stand, and gave the Grand Admiral a grateful look when he waved the captain back down.

“I'm not sure you could move for the Emperor himself right now,” Thrawn commented. He took a seat on the other end of the couch, glowing red eyes flicking over the captain's relaxed form.

It wasn't fair, Pellaeon decided as he turned his head to look at his commander. Thrawn didn't even look _tired_. His hair was still perfect, he'd changed into a uniform that wasn't coated in dust from their exhaustive search of Mount Tantiss, and his posture was still parade-ground perfect. That wasn't fair at all.

“Probably not,” Pellaeon answered wearily, “but the fear might give me just enough adrenaline to move.”

Thrawn gave him a small smile in response to his joke. “Perhaps,” he agreed, then fell silent for a moment as his face took on a more serious look. “You've not slept in nearly thirty-six hours, Captain, and you're hardly being fueled by adrenaline now.”

“Have you slept?” Pellaeon countered softly, far too tired to raise his voice any more than it already was.

“No.” Thrawn shook his head. “I was on my to my quarters when I heard you hadn't yet emerged from your office.”

He hadn't even slept and he still looked perfect and wide-awake. That was definitely not fair. How did Grand Admiral Thrawn manage to do that? Was it something to do with his species, or was there some secret trick to it that he'd picked up in his time in the military that no one had bothered to pass on to Pellaeon?

Pellaeon shifted into a slightly more comfortable position and drew his mind away from his musings. It would be rude to completely zone out during a conversation with the Grand Admiral, no matter how tired he was. “So you came to check on me.”

Thrawn nodded. “I suspected you might have fallen asleep.”

“Nearly.”

“Surely you would prefer to sleep in your own bed, Captain. I came to offer my assistance in getting you there, as your second-in-command seemed rather concerned about letting you doze off in here.” Thrawn gave him another small smile, this one was amused. “Something about how, the last time it happened, your back gave you trouble for days.”

“He would tell that story,” Pellaeon grumbled, silently vowing to have revenge as he contemplated Thrawn's offer. Assistance was nice and would be appreciated, but that meant he'd have to get up. “Walking that far sounds like an onerous task right now.”

Thrawn smile faded slightly as he stood and offered Pellaeon a hand. “It's not that far. No excuses, Captain. Come on.”

Resisting the urge to protest, Pellaeon wearily accepted the offered hand. It was warm and soft and felt pleasant and comforting against the skin of his own hand. Thrawn effortlessly tugged Pellaeon to his feet and rested his other hand on the captain's elbow for a moment to steady him.

“You're done working until you get a full eight hours of sleep,” Thrawn informed him as he steered Pellaeon to the door. “Consider that an order.”

“Yes, sir,” Pellaeon replied, and let himself be taken back to Officer's Row and deposited on his bed. Sleep did sound good, and he wasn't about to disobey a direct order from his superior. The Grand Admiral saw himself out, and Pellaeon didn't even bother to move to tug off his boots before he was sound asleep, dreaming of the victories that would come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thrawn would look infuriatingly pulled together and not the least bit tired. Fucker.


	2. After the Microjump Argument

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn’t how things between them had gone so far, and yet it was. Pellaeon would get it in his head that something should occur a specific way, Thrawn would figure it out, or it would be cosmic coincidence, and he would make certain that didn’t happen and throw the captain completely off balance. Like now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How long has it been since I posted this, promising a second chapter? Over three years? Hahaha, wow, time flies! Merry Christmas? *throws confetti*

Their argument had nearly come to blows.

Their argument had nearly come to blows and Pellaeon had been ordered from the room like a misbehaving child in need of a nap. It wasn’t the first time he and Grand Admiral Thrawn had argued over something in one of his battle plans - Hells, he doubted it would be the last - but it had been the worst. With a military full of hungry, young, unpaid mouths to feed, cloth, shelter, and provide care for on dwindling resources it was no wonder they were both stressed. Low morale effected everyone - especially those at the top. Living with daily pressure from the remaining moffs to bring the military back up to par as fast as possible couldn't make it any easier on Thrawn.

However, that didn't excuse being so damn miserly with every bit of information they happened upon, or that Thrawn wrote down.

Insanity did not seem like a very probable diagnosis for his hair-brained schemes and withholding of information. Historically, statistically, Thrawn was guaranteed to win: Pellaeon had looked through his mission records and battle plans that were declassified and not above his security clearance. Though outlandish, usually defiant of military protocol, and initially baffling to those who hadn't served with him more than three years, his plans had worked on all but a couple of occasions. 

Thrawn was either distrustful or controlling then, and the captain wasn't sure which he felt would be more insulting. He had served the last two galactic governments faithfully as a naval officer - for the entirety of his adult life, Hells, for the entirety of the Galactic Empire's existence - but Grand Admiral Thrawn didn't appear to see fit to trust him or thought he needed to be kept under control.

Contemplating the problem - and trying to let it go - had kept the captain from a restful sleep. He'd given up with two hours to go before he needed to be on the bridge and dragged himself out of bed. Trying to figure out the issue was all well and good, but contemplating it somewhere as isolated as his quarters wouldn't do any wonders for his mental state. A change of scenery had improved his mood, though not necessarily his thoughts.

Perhaps Thrawn was treating him simply as one ought to treat the man who had let the Fleet's condition deteriorate for the last five years. No, Pellaeon decided as he gazed out at the space beyond the observation deck's starboard viewport. Grand Admiral Thrawn was the one who had waited five years to return. If either of them had failed to act, it was Thrawn. There was nothing to be done about the past now, save for their argument. As strongly as he felt about his stance on the issue of micro-jumps he had grossly overstepped his boundaries and behaved in a manner unbecoming of an officer. When Thrawn was awake he would go and formally apologize: he had been the one in the wrong.

As usual.

Asking forgiveness wouldn’t hurt his pride any more than it already stung. Thrawn would either scold him again or politely brush the argument aside, and show Pellaeon he had moved on from worrying over or being bothered by the human’s petty emotions. Pellaeon would feel like a fool over the whole thing again for a few hours, and would be on his best behavior for a short time. The cycle would eventually begin again - though he would endeavor to ensure nothing as bad as this would happen again.

He stood and moved closer to the viewport, crossing his arms over his chest. There was little to see of the nebula in the distance: like nearly all nebulae, much of the light it radiated wasn’t in the visible light portion of the spectrum. All he could make out were wisps of deep violet, some blues here and there, and bits of green. 

Behind him he heard the door to the observation deck open and close, but didn’t bother to turn around. Whichever midshipman or officer it was either knew to leave him alone or had something important enough to bother him with. Aside from one person aboard, everyone generally had a decent sense of self-preservation. When he smelled spiced caf, Pellaeon sighed. Or it was option three: they were of a higher rank, could interrupt him whenever they damn well pleased, and could afford the good, expensive caf that everyone aboard loved and no one but Thrawn could afford to stock.

Pellaeon resisted the urge to turn around and unfold his arms. It smelled so good, but the chances of Thrawn having brought a second cup with him as a peace offering like last time were -

A cup entered his field of vision and his eyes widened. Against his will, the captain felt his arms unfold and his body straighten. He would not turn his head or lift his arms. He would _not_ \- 

Somehow, the cup was in his hands and he was giving the infuriating Supreme Commander a nod of thanks before he had finished repeating the second command to his body. He glared down at his traitorous hands, glanced over at Thrawn’s. The grand admiral was standing quietly next to him with his own cup of caf in hand as though they hadn't nearly hit each other last night. He had the nerve to stand there as though he felt the captain naturally belonged at his right-hand side. It was exasperating! This wasn’t how Pellaeon had wanted this to go. 

It wasn’t how things between them had gone so far, and yet it was. Pellaeon would get it in his head that something should occur a specific way, Thrawn would figure it out, or it would be cosmic coincidence, and he would make certain that didn’t happen and throw the captain completely off balance. Like now.

“What I should have done yesterday was instruct, Captain, when it became clear you did not understand. I am used to being surrounded by people who know my tactics, and understand why I choose that which I do.” Thrawn looked at him with an unreadable expression. “You do not. Part of the role of a leader is to teach, not to demand blind obedience. I can hardly expect you to learn to trust me if that’s what I ask of you.”

Was he trying to apologize? Pellaeon raised an eyebrow and waited in silence to see if one would be forthcoming. Thrawn looked back down at his caf as though it held the answers to whatever questions he had, and Pellaeon took a sip of his own caf.

“I’m sorry. If you will allow it, I would like to have our discussion again, as an opportunity to teach you, and to properly hear out your concerns. Is that agreeable?”

Pellaeon lowered the caf and properly turned to face Thrawn. He didn’t look at all repentant, but with the grand admiral appearances were often deceiving. Actions would speak for him. The captain nodded. “Okay,” he surrendered. “I’d like to apologize as well. I should have held on to my temper. I didn’t.”

Thrawn’s lips turned up into a smirk that was quickly suppressed. “That is hardly your fault,” he confessed stepping away from the window and guiding the captain with a hand on the middle of his back toward a nearby couch on which sat a pair of datapads. “I enjoy provoking your temper - perhaps too much, on occasion - and went too far last night. Rest assured, you are not at fault.”

“You’ve been goading me?” Pellaeon realized, jaw dropping as he was steered into sitting next to Thrawn. “Admiral!”

The look on Thrawn’s face as he got comfortable was that of a man enjoying a guilty pleasure. "Not always," he clarified, "sometimes I am trying to guide you toward a certain answer or way of thinking. There is something admittedly refreshing in having a second-in-command who is not afraid to speak his mind or let me know when he thinks I am needlessly risking lives." Thrawn favored him with a small, almost fond, smile that seemed to be reserved for these quiet moments where they were working through an issue between them. Every single time, Pellaeon felt his cheeks heat and his stomach flutter. That smile meant praise was coming, and Thrawn was reserved in awarding it.

"Your devotion to the lives of our people is not just commendable, Captain, it's essential. I know you will not let me forget their importance." Thrawn held his gaze for a moment and then dropped it to pick up the datapads and flick through one until one of the navigation training modules came up.

"But it won't train all of our captains, helmsmen, and navigators on the correct procedure for this maneuver, nor will your devotion teach you why and when to use it," Thrawn said with a smirk, handing it over. Pellaeon took it from him in exchange for some serious side-eye. This was not why he had gotten up early. "Better get started, Captain. That module is an hour and a quarter. Then we'll talk."

At least the other datapad seemed to have had all the administrative datawork Pellaeon had dumped on the grand admiral last night on it, he saw when he snuck a glance. They settled into a comfortable working silence, shoulder-to-shoulder, with the rest of the ship behind them and the nebula ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What Thrawn brought is probably something closer to a chai latte, which is what I'm contemplating getting up and making. I'll catch typos on another editing pass. I was trying when I had Word open, but Microsoft fucked the app up when they released the update that lets you turn off drawing with the Apple Pencil. SOMEONE kept messaging me and the notifs pop up every time I need to go near the top of my goddamn screen and send me to tumblr. If you navigate away from Word at all, you can’t format or anything unless you exit the document and force quit. I’ve tried uninstalling and everything. Next step I guess would be putting a hit out on the app developers? 
> 
> I jest. I can’t even pay bills and everyone knows you don’t screw over a hitman.


End file.
